Somewhere in the Midwest

Somewhere in the Midwest...

It's been a month since I last saw the light of freedom, much less slept in my own bed, or had a decent meal. I'm on the run with Salman Rushdie: He, under a death threat from Islamic fundamentalists who took issue with his book, The Satanic Verses, and me, on the run from those who didn't like my last column, the really humorous piece about my cousin Clem's first visit to a Catholic church.

My readers were quite firm in their denunciations. (See "Postmark," (October 1992). On second thought, DON'T SEE "Postmark.") So I thought it best to lie low for a while.

I first met Salman in a little one-horse town in Indiana. He was hiding behind the horse at the time, but I recognized the Groucho Marx glasses that he was wearing. Salman had on a pair, too.

Seeing another in such a fitful state as I, one who shared my fears and understood my despair, was almost an epiphany for me. Only I'm not allowed to use words from the official church calendar anymore. It's part of my punishment. I've got to spend the entire next year in ordinary time.

We tearfully compared notes of our common life on the run and said our goodbyes to the horse--who, it turned out, was also in hiding after accidentally wandering into a tent revival service. He was mistaken for a Democrat and forcibly driven off by evangelicals.

It's not been easy, these past few weeks. Salman and me sleeping by day, traveling by night in open boxcars, smoking old stogies we have found...you know...short, but not too big around. Eating handouts from kindly Protestants and finding work where we can: washing dishes, sweeping floors, editing scholarly journals.

We spend a lot of time sharing with each other, telling and retelling our greatest fears. Salman is most afraid of a lone assassin spotting him in a crowded library as he tries to explain to the librarian why his copy of the Koran is three years overdue. I nod with understanding, but insist that my fate is far worse. I fear that one day on a busy street someone will rush up and call me "sophomoric." To my face.

Salman shakes his head in empathy. "Truly," he says, "yours is the greater fear."

Someday I will leave my new-found friend and crawl back to my office in contrition (or is it in Washington, D.C.? It's been so long...have I forgotten?). Repentant, I will attempt to look past the rebukes and the mockery of those who still bear an offense and I will see a better time to come. I pray that I will have the courage, in the face of those who would heap insults on me, to humbly reply, "And also with you."

Next month: Clem attends his first bar mitzvah.

The Big Bang...

Creationists were deeply troubled this past summer when a scientist claimed to have discovered mathematical proof that the universe began with a single, spontaneous explosion of matter. This so-called "big bang theory" was immediately denounced by fundamentalist Christians who interpret the biblical account of creation literally.

As further proof against this theory, critics pointed out that the scientist "has a beard." (They would have said more, but they had to pack for the "God Is A Republican" convention in Houston.)

Creationism, as you may recall, is the Genesis-based belief that, in the beginning, God created the world in six days and then rested on the seventh. (God didn't create the weekend until later...but I digress.)

Unfortunately, creationism leaves no room for other opinions, such as my own highly plausible version: The big bang was actually caused by a teen-age God secretly playing with chemicals in the back yard. God said "Oops," and didn't say "It is good" until Mom came out.

And Now, the News...

The U.S. Supreme Court has ruled that members of the Hari Krishna religious sect can continue to pass out literature at public airports, but can no longer solicit money. This ruling surprised the Sojourners promotion department, which was about to launch a major new fund-raising drive at Washington-area airports and bus stations. In a carefully worded internal memo, Sojourners' promotion director thanked staff members who had volunteered for this effort, particularly those of us who had already shaved our heads.

Emboldened by the warm reception he received at the recent Republican convention, former candidate Pat "Let-The-Healing-Begin" Buchanan is encouraging the GOP campaign to adopt some of his catchy election slogans, including:

· "A Kinder, Gentler Fascism,"

· "A Thousand Points of White," and

· "Let's Put Aside Our Differences, Find Our Common Bonds, And Work to Unite Our Country Once Again...NOT!"

GOP officials thanked Buchanan for his ideas but reportedly are staying with President Bush's favorite campaign slogan: "I Really, Really Want to Be President."

Ed Spivey Jr. is art director of Sojourners.